


A Vineyard by the Sea

by sixpences



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-24
Updated: 2007-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixpences/pseuds/sixpences
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen years after AWE, Elizabeth Turner has an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vineyard by the Sea

_Arise my love, my fair one,  
and come away;  
for now the winter is past,  
the rain is over and gone._  
\- from the Song of Songs

The breeze coming off the ocean was low that day, whispering through the garden and weaving its salt-scent through the air as Elizabeth crouched to scatter seed into the hen coop. The leaves of the orange tree murmured above her, still casting a long shadow that stretched across the neat rows of vegetables to where the ground began to slope down towards the dunes, a soft dapple of morning light that fell over the plain cotton of her dress.

Captain Radley would probably turn up some time that afternoon. She rolled up the top of the seed sack and hefted it, picking up her skirts with her other hand as she stepped around the coop full of bustling birds, Henry attempting to shove his way past Anne and Mary to get his pick of the grains. The garden was well-settled and thriving, their tenth crop of onions well on its way and the maize starting to show in their gangly rows at the back. The white blossom on the tree spoke of many sweet oranges once the summer came in, and Isaac was tall enough now to pick plenty for himself. She smiled to herself. Hopefully he wouldn't spend too much time just eating them, like last year. Tucking the sack under her arm, she walked back up towards the house, blades of grass tickling at her bare feet. The open back door swung listlessly in the breeze.

In the kitchen, Elizabeth set the seed down in a corner, propped against the wall, and glanced briefly about the room. Radley always insisted on coming up to the house, rather than doing business down in the caves like the rest of them, and much as she disliked it she couldn't afford to lose his custom. She still had a couple of concealed knives strapped to the table legs, and there was always the pistol. She straightened her skirts again and grimaced at them. Absolutely useless if the man did start anything, but there was no playing the masquerade with men who knew her well enough, and there were too many of them with rather unwanted ideas about a woman in breeches.

Looking back up at the table, still strewn with the remnants of breakfast, she frowned. Isaac's teacup was upset, lying on its side on the tabletop in a little pool of cold tea that seeped forlornly around the delicate china, a tiny imperfection in the tableau of their half-finished meal. Tab had probably knocked it over looking for leftover kippers, though it was odd that he hadn't lapped up the spilt drink; he had a fair penchant for tea. She picked up a dishrag and went to mop it up.

Bending over the table she paused. There seemed to be a hint of something in the cool air of the kitchen, the smell of salt and sweat that all the smugglers brought in off the sea, and something else that tickled at her memory...

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

Elizabeth dropped the rag and stiffened, straining her ears. Only a floorboard, and it could have been the cat again... in the silence her own breathing sounded incredibly loud, blood starting to throb in her ears. The soft ocean-sounds whispered at the edge of her hearing, a gentle lull, and seconds slipped on. Exhaling, she started to relax, and picked up the dishrag again. The house was old enough to be making all sorts of sounds, even if Tab weren't about, and she'd no reason to be so on edge.

As she started to soak up the spilt tea, there was another creak, fainter, and then a sudden, sharp crash, followed by what sounded like a muffled curse.

Elizabeth's hand went to the pistol on the sideboard immediately, fingers clenching white around the engraved butt as she pulled back the cock. Few of the townfolk would be foolish enough to try their hand at burglary- they were all well enough aware of the sort of men she called associates- but there could be one or two who needed the lesson spelled out. Muscles tensed, she padded across the room towards the stairs, holding her breath.

She ascended in silence. The hooked rug on the landing had been trampled on, the scraggy fibres all askew, and her blood was roaring now, the kind of pounding fire she knew too well, from skirmish and scrape and battle proper. She could almost smell the powder-smoke, feel the rebound of the shot... adjusting her grip slightly, she stepped over the rug towards her bedroom door. She had left it closed, but now it stood slightly ajar, a trickle of daylight falling through across the landing. Taking a deep breath and steadying the pistol held out in front of her, Elizabeth reached out and pushed it open.

Sprawled on the floor beside the bed, hat off and one hand clutching his head, was Jack Sparrow.

For thirteen years, Elizabeth had amused herself in idle moments with what she might say if she were ever unfortunate enough to see the infuriating man again. It would need to be something dramatic, yet succinct, conveying her ire but still disdainful enough that he wouldn't think that she had spent any of the intervening time thinking on him at all.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

Perhaps not quite what she had had in mind.

From the floor, Jack groaned. "'M quite busy being stricken with terrible pain, love. If you could just wait a moment..."

"Captain Sparrow, given that I am holding a loaded pistol you might want to start explaining yourself."

Gingerly, he raised his head, squinting at her. The dark dreadlocks falling messily about his face were half grey now, and threaded about with some beads and trinkets that she didn't recognise. Not, of course, that she could have really remembered the old ones. His eyes were still shadowed with the same smudged kohl, crinkling in dark lines at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

"Just as hospitable as I remembered then, Mrs Turner?" He winked. She ground her teeth as he began to sit up slowly, and put her other hand to the butt of the pistol, as if to steady her aim. He stopped dead, eyes widening, and fluttered his hands at her in what was probably supposed to be a placatory manner. "Now there's no need for that, eh? Let me up and I'll explain absolutely everything, captain's honour." He smiled again, hopefully.

Holding back a lengthy sigh, Elizabeth nodded, though she didn't lower the pistol. Jack beamed, and, rubbing his head once more, picked himself and his hat up and began brushing the dust off his coat. He really did look barely a hair different from how she remembered him, all scruff and gypsy-flair, and the familiar scent she'd caught a whiff of in the kitchen, patchouli and sea salt and a spicy hint of rum. Suddenly she felt very aware of the work of time on her own flesh; curves filled out and hands worn with work, lines tracing deeper around her eyes and the stretchmarks across her belly that somehow felt visible even under her dress. Seeing Will, not a day aged from his handsome twenty-one, had been hard enough, but she would have expected the years to work at least as great a change in Jack as they had in her.

Apparently satisfied with the state of his coat, he turned back to her, smile fading slightly as he clutched his hat. "I _am_ sorry about the breaking and entering, Bess- though perhaps not so much the breaking, as I think you'll find most everything except my skull wholly intact, and 'm not sure it's quite entering when the lady of the house leaves the door so widely open, but..." He trailed off, mid-gesture, and his eyes flicked to the pistol she was still pointing at him, though her grip had loosened. "I thought I'd come and see you. For old times' sake."

His gaze was almost plaintive, eyes wine-dark and searching. Elizabeth let out a long breath, and lowered the gun.

\---

"So how's the boy?" Jack took a dainty sip from his teacup. He might even have been a respectable sort of guest, perched on the edge of his chair and holding the little cup elegantly in one hand. If it weren't for the sword and the kohl and the very absurdity of having Jack Sparrow taking tea in her kitchen again. She set down her cup.

"Well and happy enough," she replied, regarding him cautiously. "He's started an apprenticeship with the carpenter."

Jack snorted. "Nice respectable career for a pirate's son."

"I'm not a pirate anymore, Jack," Elizabeth murmured. "And Will..."

"Is and isn't, aye." He grinned. "But don't sell yourself so short, love. I hear you're up to a different brand of fencing these days."

She allowed herself a smile at that. "It pays, usually. Smugglers get to pass on their goods, respectable townsfolk get to buy from a pleasant young widow rather than thieves and pirates, and I get to feed my son."

He nodded, and took another sip. "Not quite the same though, is it?"

Elizabeth took a long, slow mouthful of her tea. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Jack leaned towards her, pushing his hat back a little. "I passed on stolen goods through Nassau for a year or two, after I'd lost the _Pearl_. Not a bad life, really- fat chunk of the profits, and rather less of the risk. Didn't much fancy letting myself get stuck out at sea with a ship full of mutinous bastards again, y'see. But it wasn't the same." He sat back slowly, and turned his head to look out of the window, towards the wide blue sweep of the sea. Elizabeth's stomach clenched.

"I promised Will that I would wait," she said, clasping her hands. The thin gold band of her wedding ring dug into her finger. "And I could hardly raise Isaac on a ship."

"True enough," Jack nodded, not taking his eyes from the window. "How old is he now anyway?"

"No calendars at sea, Captain?" She didn't try to disguise the bitterness in her tone. She'd not blamed him, when he left for the final time- she could hardly have expected any man to stay and raise another's child, let alone Jack Sparrow. But she could still remember the way he'd smiled at the tiny babe in his arms, the over-dramatic wince when Isaac had tugged at an errant braid. She had hoped Jack might have as well.

After a pause, he sighed. "Thirteen. And a month, give or take. I don't suppose any of my parcels ever arrived?"

Elizabeth blinked. "Parcels? I don't... well, as long as that horrible monkey hand wasn't you."

Jack harrumphed loudly, turning back to look at her with a rather affronted expression. "I'll have you know that's a powerful artefact, had it on very good authority. I suppose you fed it to the cat or something." She stared incredulously at him. "Well perhaps not very good authority. But he was a nice fellow. Fairly nice." Jack fiddled with his teacup. "Anyway, thirteen's old enough for midshipman."

Elizabeth froze. He wouldn't. Surely not. Her stomach began to churn. No, no, he _wouldn't_. She stood up sharply. "Jack, because of you I have lost my home and my father, my husband is gone, my friends are dead, and you think- you have the brazen, self-centred pomposity to think that I would let you take my son as well?" The pistol was lying not a foot away on the tabletop, she could still reach it. "Get out of my house."

Completely unfazed, Jack took another sip of tea, looking at her pointedly. "I was angling for two new crew, actually."

"_Me?_" And she laughed, a sharp, choked sound. "And what capacity do you have for a housewife on board your pirate ship, Captain? Tending the chickens? Hoeing vegetables in the hold?" Her tone dropped to a low snarl. "Or would I be kept to tidying your cabin and keeping the bed warm?"

He raised an eyebrow. "If you're a housewife, Lizzie me dear, then I'm a clergyman. Fine impersonation doesn't make the man- or the woman. As for my bed, well, I've no objections as such..."

"I don't love you Jack." She spat it like a hammer-blow, and he did flinch, slightly, smile fading as his eyes dropped to the floor. "Don't think you can just prance back in here and whisk me away, like some absurd fairytale. I've got a son and a husband depending on me and a life of my own and _I don't love you._"

There was a long silence, then, an emptiness that ached as she stood over him, arms folded. Then he looked up. "Fair enough, Bess. You don't love me. Can't say there's much reason that you should." He paused, eyes searching. "But what about her?" And he pointed out of the window towards the blue line of the sea.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, looking studiously away from his outstretched finger, away from him. "Don't be ridiculous, Jack. That was a long time ago." Trust him to bring up foolish remarks made by what had been a different woman, too long ago. She bit her lip.

She barely noticed him standing, until she felt his hand at her elbow, rings cool against her skin where she'd rolled the sleeve up. His voice was very soft. "I don't expect anything from you, Elizabeth. But I'd like you to consider the offer."

He looked her in the eye and her breath caught, in spite of herself. "Then what exactly are you offering?"

"A place aboard the _Pearl_, for you and the lad. Any young hand willing to learn's welcome, and Gibbs is thinking of stopping off on land a bit more permanently. I might be in need of a second." The morning light caught the silver in his hair, glistening like sea-gossamer, the strands of some Nereid's spell.

"And what about Will?" Her heart was starting to race. She couldn't believe she was actually considering this, leaving everything she'd been trying to build here, taking Isaac away to a pirate's life, but there was something in the smell of the sea and the brightness of the sun...

"Seven years to go, isn't it? I think we could manage that." Jack's mouth twitched into a crooked smile. "He'd want you to be happy, love. To be free in the time you've got."

Something broke, then, like the last thread she was clinging to, and she found herself falling against Jack's shoulder, tears streaming. She wanted to scream, she wanted to howl, but Jack was running a soothing hand up and down her back and she breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the salty-sweet smell of him, the feel of rough grey wool against her cheek. He felt so _real_, warm and wiry-strong, nothing like the chill brush of eternal youth against her aging skin, the awkward touches of Will's last visit. She could hear Jack's heart beating.

"You left," she mumbled, fingers toying uselessly with the edge of his lapel. "When you came... when Isaac was born... I thought... but..."

"I know," he said, a tremor in his voice. "I know, Bess. I'm sorry."

They stood like that for what seemed an age, his grimy hands tracing patterns across her back, faded golden hair tangled with silvered black. He was tracing away the years, a curl like rising surf over the long scar she'd earned from an aging customer whose speed she'd underestimated, fingers flickering like rain over the shoulder that still ached seven years after scrambling frantically down the cliffs after Isaac, the warm press of a palm against the rib she'd cracked in that great, terrible battle at the end of the world. There were deeper scars, too, and his hand in them was greater than he likely realised, but there was a kind of penitence in the softness of his touch.

Eventually, Elizabeth pulled back slightly, rubbing at her puffy eyes. The sun was much higher now, nearing its zenith. She drew breath. "I've got someone to see this afternoon."

"One of your smugglers, no doubt." He smiled that lopsided grin again, glinting gold. "Silk and spices, is it?"

She found herself smiling back at him. "Rather more to your tastes, I think- Captain Radley's a rum runner."

"Rum, you say?" Jack slipped a hand from about her waist to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "You know, if it would help not to have to pay him... I'd have to take a little commission of course..."

"Jack!" She swatted at him half-heartedly. "I don't mix business and piracy. Unless it's strictly necessary."

"That, my dear, is why it's best when business _is_ piracy." He reached up and took off his hat, settling it on her head, where it promptly slipped down to almost cover her eyes. He gave her an appraising look. "Doesn't quite go with the dress, 'm afraid. Not that colour anyway. But it suits you."

Elizabeth sighed and extricated herself from his embrace, tugging the tricorn from her head and looking away. "You can't fix everything like this, Jack. I can't just pack my things and leave- not now."

"How long, then?" Jack's face was deadly serious again. "A few weeks, a month or so? Wouldn't do the _Pearl_ any harm to have a bit of a rest, and this is as reasonable a spot as any." He reached out and gently took the hat from her hands. "There's no undoing time, Bess, but I've no mind to keep making the same mistake."

She could hear the sea breeze at the half-open door, whispering like it had for thirteen long years. Somewhere in a chest in the bedroom above their heads was a sword and a battered leather baldric, a loose man's shirt and a pair of sailor's boots, a heavy, embroidered coat that would turn away a glancing blade. Elizabeth exhaled slowly.

"It depends what Isaac wants."

\---

The sun was hovering over the low western rise of the mountains when Isaac Turner came around the final bend in the winding path towards his house. He could see the bursts of white blossom on the orange tree, dancing in the sea breeze, fallen petals drifting over the ground the way he imagined snow would, if this were one of Ma's Christmases in old England. His arms were aching from a day spent rough-sawing planks for someone's table, a biting little blister forming below the pad of his right thumb, and the cool air was a blessed relief from the sweaty heat of the workshop.

Anne clucked at him as he walked past, and he stopped to throw in the crust of bread he'd left from his lunch, smiling as the three fat birds fell to squabbling over it. The back door was propped open and he could hear voices from the kitchen, his mother's and a man's, someone he didn't recognise. Ma was laughing, a warm, bright sound, as Isaac stepped up to the door.

"So then I said to him, 'Look mate, she's very nice, but you can't _marry_ a goat!'" The man seated at the kitchen table opposite his giggling mother was quite unlike anyone Isaac had ever seen before. He wore a very battered-looking tricorn tipped back on his head over a faded red bandana, black hair so full of grey that he must be quite old, his be-ringed hands fluttering like birds as he spoke. He wore kohl around his eyes like some of the smugglers Ma dealt with- and were those braids in his _beard?_

The door creaked a little as he pushed it open and they both looked 'round at him, still smiling. Ma gave him a little wave, and the stranger stood up, doffing his hat. "Best pay my respects to the man of the house, eh?" He stepped forward and stuck out a tar-stained hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Turner."

Trying not to frown, Isaac took his hand politely. "Thank you sir, though I'd quite like to know who I'm becoming acquainted with."

The stranger put a hand to his heart, as if in great shock, and twisted his head towards Ma, dreadlocks swinging wildly. "'Pon rep, Bess, haven't you told the boy anything?" He grinned back down at Isaac, setting his hat back on his head with a flourish. "Lad, I hope you shall always remember this as the day you met Captain Jack Sparrow."

Isaac stared at him. Surely not. Jack Sparrow ought to be a foot taller, at least, and maybe be able to breathe fire, or load a pistol with his dreadlocks. His rings looked disappointingly ordinary too, no magical powers waiting to be unleashed. Ma coughed slightly and he suddenly noticed the bemused expression on Captain Jack's face. Isaac composed himself.

"You're a bit different to what I thought, sir."

Jack nodded very solemnly. "Ah yes, I've heard that many a time. Often from the ladies..." He trailed off with a wink. Isaac laughed, trying not to appear too confused.

Ma stood up, rolling her eyes at Captain Jack and putting a hand on Isaac's shoulder, steering him towards the table. "How was the shop today, dear?"

Isaac shrugged. "Sawdust. Planks. Blisters. A shop." He stuck a hand into his coat pocket to pull out a little carved fish, the scion of a scrap of wood. "I made this for you."

Ma took it, turning it over in her hands, feeling the tiny scales and fins that he'd picked out with a chisel. "It's beautiful, Isaac. Thank you."

He shrugged, scuffing a foot on the floor. "It ought to float too. Thought it might remind you of being on the sea."

Ma's hands stilled abruptly, and she glanced surreptitiously at Captain Jack as Isaac sat himself down. The pirate followed suit, leaning over to look Isaac in the eye quite seriously.

"Your Ma's told you a bit about her sailing days then?"

"Told me lots," Isaac replied. "About being kidnapped by ghost pirates and voyaging to the other side of the world and fighting off a whole fleet to save Pa." That last was not a story he liked much anymore, though he'd never have said so to Ma. Boys ought to love their fathers, and he'd been so excited to finally meet Pa, but he wasn't quite like in Ma's stories, really, and it was so hard to love someone who you'd only met once.

"Ever think of taking to sea yourself then? Sailing the bounding main like your dear Pa?" There was an odd glint in Captain Jack's eyes. Isaac glanced over at Ma, and saw the same expression, as if they were both asking him quite a different question to the one that had been said aloud. He noticed, suddenly, that Ma's pistol was lying on the table next to the teapot, the box with the spare shot and powder sat beside it. As if she would be needing them. As if they might be going somewhere.

Isaac kept his voice level. "It's not going to happen though, is it?"

There was a heavy pause, then Captain Jack slipped a hand into his pocket, fishing about for a good few seconds before drawing it out. Lying on his open palm was a tiny, white carving of a most curious looking creature, with a great curving nose pointing up at the sky, one flat foot raised. Isaac picked it up, feeling the carved notches marking out its ears, the smoothness of the strange, milk-coloured substance. He looked back up to see Captain Jack grinning broadly, gold-capped teeth gleaming in the evening light.

"Ever been to India, mate?"

Isaac smiled.


End file.
